Wednesday, January 30, 2013

It's party time! What a super fabulous way to launch the imprint! I am on top of the world!

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror on Saturday....

Like a virgin…

Last week, I made my virgin trip to Assam. I am
ready to make a shame faced confession, right here, right now : visiting the
Seven Sisters was never a top priority. I was attracted – yes – but also
apprehensive. The usual reservations : is it safe? Will I get my head blown off by assorted insurgents?
How does one even get to the North East? Stupid, ignorant reservations, I
agree. And then came the invitation to visit. Daunting logistics followed. No
direct flights to Guwahati from Mumbai… I was told it was easier and cheaper to
go to Bangkok.
But I wanted to go to Guwahati, not Bangkok,
I clarified. WHY???? asked the bewildered travel agent. Good question. Many lousy
excuses later, the trip was on. Well… media men, Zarir Hussain, and his older
brother Wasbir , took care of all earlier doubts ( with a little extra
persuasion from Arnab Goswami – a proud son of Assam himself). I was invited to
present an Award ( Assamese of the Year) to Olympian Shiva Thapa – cute as a
button and all of nineteen. Apart from this important event, I had long
nurtured a selfish interest or two in visiting Guwahati. Dipping my feet into
the mighty Brahmaputra that flows through the
city, was one. And paying obeisance to Kamakhya, the Mother Goddess, who
resides in a deep dark and wet cave ( the sanctum sanctorum of the ancient
temple) was another. This historic pilgrimage site is perched 800 feet above sea level on the top of the
Nilachal Hill. And here’s the interesting part : Consider this - the Brahmaputra, which flows
past Nilachal Hill, is the only ‘male’ river in India. I needed to check out its
testosterone levels ( very alpha and most impressive). Kamakhya being a Shakti Peeth, is fiercely
female, the seat of Tantricism, and perhaps
the most important manifestation of female energy. The juxtaposition! Wow! I, umm, desperately needed my fix of unadulterated
female energy. I am happy to report, I experienced an overwhelming surge of the
same, as I crouched next to the natural underground stream in the cave ( let me
skip the yoni reference) and tasted the icy cold water. It did wonders for my
estrogen levels. I swear! And I exaggerate not when I say I emerged from the dark
recesses of the cave into bright sunlight feeling like Angelina Jolie on
steroids or Lara Croft unchained. I was ready to take on the world.

Legends around the divine power of Kamakhya
abound. She is often described as the ‘Menstruating Goddess’ . The annual
Ambubachi festival attracts thousands of visitors from across the world. The
privacy of the Goddess is scrupulously maintained for those three days when the
underground stream turns blood red (
iron oxide). Childless couples throng the courtyard seeking divine
intervention. Tantriks make a fortune, as believers sip a mildly intoxicating
brew out of a monkey’s skull.Some blessed couples return a year later,carrying
new born infants in their arms. Who can question faith and miracles? On its
part, the ferocious Brahmaputra claims its own
victims when it floods. A centuries old structure named ‘Urvashi’ juts out into
the river and is closely watched by locals when the waters start to rise
dangerously. It is believed the town of Guwahati
will get entirely submerged the day the tip of the Urvashi tower goes under
water.

I met several bright ,beautiful and
accomplished ladies of Guwahati, including a senior cop. I asked them about the
Kamakhya effect. Did they feel more empowered living in the shadow of the awe
inspiring Devi? They exchanged looks and smiled mysteriously. One of them
confessed coyly that the last time she had spontaneously gone up to her husband
to give him a cuddle, he had looked up in alarm and asked, “What’s wrong?” She
said, she had shrugged and said, “Nothing…. sorry!” Oh oh. I looked across the
room at their husbands who were busy sorting out national and global problems.
I figured the macho Brahmaputra
had exercised its effect on that lot. They were happy in their alpha heaven. As
for us, we were left stranded on the banks of the male river, waiting for
deliverance…despite Kamakhya watching over us. My own pumped up estrogen
levels were also rapidly waning. No
worries. I’ll find me a new fix soon.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

What a Lit Fest! I had a BRILLIANT time at the just concluded JLF. Got back exhausted but exhilarated late last night after launching my imprint, the SDe Book, on the Front Lawns - the hallowed top spot at the JLF, which was packed to capacity for my session titled ''Çelebrate Shobhaa', ably moderated by the very competent Ashok Ferrey, the talented writer from Sri Lanka.Do note my vibrant Socialite Bag, a merchandising tribute from my publishers, a bow in the direction of my very first book, 'Socialite Evenings'. I love it! And it matches my mad caftan, too!

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This appeared in the Asian Age on Saturday....

Rahul Baba – Maa da Laadla

Coronation of a Prince....

Now that the deed is done, let’s pump the
lad’s hand and get on with it. Wait a minute. Did I just use the word ‘lad’?
Ooops. Rahul Gandhi at 40 plus is no
lad. Laadla, yes. Not just his mother’s, but, as the Congress grandpas are
hoping, of the entire nation’s too. Don’t laugh. It may yet happen. Anything is
possible in this pathetic scenario with the acute paucity of leaders. But
before we start singing hosannas and rush out to anoint the Dimpled Darling, we
really need to get a few things right. For starters, can we stop this nonsense
of referring to him as a Youth Leader? Or a Youth Icon? What youth? At his age,
Barack Obama was a Senator from Illinois,
already eyeing the White House.Today, at 51, Obama has just been sworn in for a
second term as President of America. And our Rahul (just 9 years his junior)

has
yet to take his first few baby steps in the big, bad world of politics. Even
so, compared to the fossils in his party, it is understandable that they would
want to propel him forward as a youthful leader who could then become the
youthful prime minister – just like his Daddyji before him. Perhaps his stubble
and disheveled appearance are a part of that construct. Perhaps his minders
have decided that’s the look which will click with Youngistan. Maybe they are
right. And maybe his critics are totally wrong when they mock his speech after this
week’s dramatic nomination and elevation. I have a feeling even that ( babalog
speech) was a part of the overall positioning strategy. Here’s the possible
scenario : Diggy and gang went into a huddle after the Reluctance Prince had
been talked into accepting the number 2 position in the party. Once that tiny detail was out of the way it was
decided that Rahul Baba should make an untutored, straight from the heart
speech after the mini-coronation. Sceptics who may have pointed out that it was not the best
idea given our Baba’s…. ummmm, lack of political experience, were haughtily
dismissed by Diggy and everybody went home happy. Then came the ‘cold and dark’
night which saw Rahul Baba in an agitated frame of mind. He thought long and
hard about the most difficult decision he has ever taken and several thoughts
ran through his head. Bingo! His speech wrote itself! He confessed he had watched
his mother cry just once. Earlier, she
had surprised everyone by hugging him in public. He too had
allowed himself to blush, dimple and hold back tears. The moment of
truth was but a few hours away. What on earth would he say to the waiting
world?

Aha. India found out soon enough. We
discovered through our Prince that power was actually poison. But the good son
was willing to drink poison for the sake of the country. There was a
Christ-like message in the imagery. The chalice was in place. Rahul had no
choice but to do the noble thing, as several members of his family had done
earlier – and take a swig. During his Garden of Gethsemane
moment, he remembered his late father (“ the bravest man I know’) and the tears
in Rajiv’s eyes when his mother Indira Gandhi was assassinated. And now, here
he was, Rahul the dutiful son, ready to
embrace his destiny and take charge of India. I have to confess I am a
sucker for sentimentality. Never mind the Doubting Thomases who scoffed at the
naivete of Rahul’s childish speech, I
fell for it hook, line and sinker. My motherly self reached out to the lad (
yes, at this point he had regressed and become an endearing lad), and my tear
ducts went into over drive. I told you I’m an absolute sucker! What to do?

Political analysts insist Rahul Baba wasted
a golden opportunity. Instead of a mature, well thought through State of the
Nation address a la Obama, Rahul converted
the occasion into a maudlin Gandhi family melodrama. That is true. So he did. But why not? How smart of him !
Rahul is no Obama. He is Rahul. A pretty simple minded chap, incapable of grand
standing or brilliant oratory. It was clever of him to discard any official
speech that may have been prepared for him, and decide to speak from the heart
instead. At least the guy sounded genuine! But, hello! Was it smart of him to
also indulge in much needed party bashing ? I think so. Rahul merely said what
others have been voicing for the longest time. He had the guts to articulate
popular sentiment and say it like it is. In the bargain, he did sound like a
class monitor scolding naughty students . But frankly, better that than a Sermon on the Mount.Rahul talked about
reaching out to Young India in a more meaningful way. That was pretty cool.
What wasn’t as cool was his reference to those leading an ostentatious life and
depending on their privileged positions to protect them. His digs at Delhi’s Lal Batti culture
must have reddened the faces of several
of his own party men. Khair,Rahul
sounded really cute when he made that remark. Mainly because he himself is
probably THE most privileged person in India right now. Was it then , a
wasted opportunity? Did he look like a wimp when he went on and on about his
tete a tete with Mummyji? Yes, he most certainly did. But let me tell you,
every desi mother watching him on tv that day must have wished fervently, “Beta
ho toh aisa!” Let’s start counting those female votes, folks. The numbers are
pretty awesome. Which is what makes me believe that the chweetie pie speech was no accident. Whosoever designed it
deserves loud applause. Taaliyaan ! India is a country of over
emotional Matajis. Rahul managed to tug at several thousand heart strings in
one go. He is no intellectual. But this one time, I for one think he got it
right! Rahul was spot on! Chew on that, Narendra Modi.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Off to the Maha Kumbh of Literature in Jaipur! These images are from the absolutely wonderful fruit and vegetable market in Guwahati. I came back with two cartons filled with veggies and fruits ( did you know Guwahati is the pineapple capital of the world?). Those gooseberries are from Kashmir. And I pounced on the oranges from Meghalaya and Bhutan - the sweetest on earth!

Friday, January 25, 2013

Will the Government of India have the guts to confer the highest civilian recognition on the Nameless Nirbhaya, who has become a symbol of courage and defiance for every woman who has ever faced violence and fought back bravely? I doubt it. The Republic Day celebrations tomorrow offer little hope for our women. The usual suspects will receive the usual national awards - the Padmas and more. Nobody will remember or care who won what even one day after the announcements. Nirbhaya may be given some token recognition. But even that will not be without debate, considering what an embarrassment her death has been to the Dilli wallas. Shame!

I am off to the Maha Kumbh of Literature at Jaipur tomorrow. It's an annual ritual I look forward to.

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The two images above record the magical moment just after I stepped into the icy cold, rapidly moving waters of the mighty Brahmaputra in Guwahati earlier this week. It was a dream come true! The river is indeed magnificent, as the picture reveals.This trip along the banks of the Brahmaputra was right after a wonderful 'darshan' at the centuries old Kamakhya temple close by. Another dream that became a reality! As I am sure some of you know, the Kamakhya temple is the seat of Tantric energy and thought, being a primary Shakti Peeth. I was in Guwahati to deliver a keynote address on Violence against Women. And to present the Assamese of the Year award to Olympian boxer Shiva Thapa, all of nineteen!

More pictures coming up tomorrow!

Love and self-loathing…

A few weeks ago, I was talking to dinner
companions at a lively soiree hosted by a public intellectual. As is the case
these days, our conversation kept coming back to the death of the 23-year-old
rape victim in Delhi.The erudite husband of a beautiful lady seated at the
table, wondered aloud as to what is worse – an acid attack or rape? I was
startled by the comment and asked him to elaborate. He said with complete
sincerity, “ An acid attack is far worse for a woman since it disfigures her.”
Still startled, but not wishing to appear rude, I requested him to clarify
further. He answered thoughtfully, “ A rape victim can walk down the street
confidently, and nobody will know she has been raped. But what can the poor
acid attack victim do? Her scars are there for the world to observe.” Later the
same night, I couldn’t get the conversation out of my head. Imagine the
‘choices’ we as women have – acid Vs. rape. One , visible. The other, not. Both
violent. In a bizarre context, which is the bigger trauma? If a woman is given
such a sadistic choice by an oppressor… would she be in a position to select? “
Please, Sirji…. go ahead and rape me. But… but… hold the acid!” Has it really
come to that? Are visible scars far more painful than internal ones? Or is it
back to the same old problem faced by women down the centuries : “Never mind what happens to me behind four
walls. Beat me, rape me, throttle me, gag me – but don’t leave any evidence
behind. For , if you do, the shame of that revelation will be far harder to live with than the lifelong sorrow of the body having been
sexually violated.” A woman is an expert at keeping countless secrets. Some of
these dark secrets haunt her till she dies. Sexual abuse, often by close family
members, is one of them. She is expected to stay mum, or face the wrath of her
family and the samaaj at large. She becomes a sullied creature. No better than
used merchandise. Her family conspires to pass on the tainted woman to an
unsuspecting groom. In all this, nobody bothers to find out what hell the
victim herself is going through. Having spoken to several women trapped in such
appalling circumstances, I can tell you, there is just one pre-dominant emotion:
self- loathing. A woman who has been brutalized physically by a man, is further
brutalized emotionally, generally by her own self.

This is how it has always been. Female
guilt is rarely understood. It is somehow
not particularly ‘important’ to anybody. People scoff, “ Oh… you women
are such whingers! Stop going on and on about your bloody guilt. Or deal with
it yourself.” Quite forgetting the larger question :Why should the victim feel
guilty in the first place?

We are conditioned to accept ‘our position’
in the overall scheme of things. If a woman dares to defy that assigned
position, she is branded a trouble maker…. dangerous to society. She has to be
suitably punished. This punishment takes several forms – some are so subtle as
to be more lethal than even a harsh beating. When a woman begins to hate
herself, it is the equivalent of a slow
and painful death. Day by day, she dies a little. If her family notices and
does nothing about it, she herself accelerates the process. Often, she ends up
taking her own life. The family is relieved. It is considered the honourable
thing to do. At the back of their minds is the sneaking suspicion that she had
it coming. That she had asked for it. That she deserved to die. Rape victims
are judged and condemned far more than the dastardly perpetrators of the crime.
‘Why me?” the victim keeps wondering. And the answer she receives says it all :
“You obviously invited it. You must have provoked the man.”

Nirbhaya’s case is different. There were
not just six penises involved. There was also the killer iron rod. It was not
just rape. It is murder. And what has horrified people across the country is
that ghastly detail involving her intestines being pulled out. As any student
of basic biology will tell you, one cannot pull out intestines from a woman’s
vagina. Let’s leave this sordid story here. It fills one with such deep
anguish, that Nirbhaya’s excruciating pain during her courageous struggle becomes ones own.

Who deserves the Bharat Ratna in 2013?
There’s no contest. It has to be Nirbhaya.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

This glorious white peacock was spotted by my daughter Arundhati in Juhu last week! He appeared.... almost like a vision.... and she clicked him quickly! It was a good omen , I told her. And I swear everything is suddenly better! Thank you, peacock!

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This appeared in Sunday Times today....

Have we finally
had it with war games??

Have
we finally had it? Or.... are we being had? Last week was a particularly disturbing one.The number of
mixed signals coming our way from assorted sources, added to the aggravation.
Suddenly, the trauma of rape was out and Pakistani atrocities were in. The
deeply shocking story of Lance Naik Hemraj Singh’s brutal beheading took over
every conceivable space in media. And we had gauche, inarticulate anchors
blabbing away incoherently about how ‘bizarre’ and ‘obnoxious’ all this was…
and how India must retaliate. Retaliate? How? Sushma Swaraj promptly provided
an answer . Rashly and impetuously she thundered that for every Indian head we
lose to Pakistan, we should bring back ten! Coming from a senior politician,
this was a seriously dumb statement. Fortunately, the average citizen’s
response was far more sober, intelligent and considered. Soon we had a
cacophony of voices banging on about the signals we need to send out to our
neighbor…. to America…. to the world. Nobody made much sense, least of all our
Prime Minister who finally opened his mouth to declare it was ‘not business as
usual’ with Pakistan. Really? No kidding! Everybody wanted to know what exactly
he meant by that ambiguous, entirely vague remark. What ‘business’? What is
‘usual’ when it comes to Pakistan? As always, it was left to Pakistani
spokespersons to smoothly ride over the crisis… pass the buck… and move on. All
of this while the perfectly matched chiffon dupatta stayed demurely in place without once slipping off the coiffed head.
The Birkin offensive worked – yet again!

Meanwhile, our bewildered citizens suddenly
discovered the identities of a few hitherto unknown top brass of the army, who
came out guns blazing, all bristling moustaches and belligerent words. “They
fire.We fire,” declared Army Chief Gen.Bikram Singh. While one gentleman spoke
about retaliatory action ‘at the appropriate time’ ( and when would that be,
Sir?). The other spoke ominously about his ‘hope’ that our government would
extend support to the army. Huh? Iska
matlab? Were we meant to read between the lines and draw our own conclusions?
Was the Government holding back on required support? And support for what? Did
a Lt.Gen need to send out such a crucial message using television channels to
convey it? Who was this message meant for? Those in power in Delhi? Their counterparts in
Pakistan? The Americans , who are once again leaning just that much more
towards our (un) friendly neighbours these days? The world at large? Bhagwan
only knows.

Meanwhile, our hard working anchors were
relentlessly at it . An emotional storm was being systematically whipped up.
Panelists were frothing at the mouth. And everybody was in overdrive covering
the grisly minutae of the heinous beheading and milking every tiny detail in a
way that was embarrassing,morbid and insensitive.Suddenly, Nirbhaya and those
67 daily rapes across India – the ones that get reported – became stale news.
There were no new angles to exploit. India had swiftly moved on. Hemraj Singh
was the new martyr. And Pakistan had to be whipped once more in public.The
flogging seems to be on hold for now. Pakistani actress Meera has planned a
peace march in Delhi.Her agenda involves the granting of 5 year visas to
Pakistani artists, and has nothing to do with heavier issues. A particularly
clumsy gesture involved Pakistani hockey players being unceremoniously packed
off. Raj Thackeray got into the act and accused our government of playing up
the beheading of a brave soldier as a diversionary tactic.The rather pathetic
truth is that countless people believed Raj! That’s how low our morale is right
now. We are prepared to accept the worst charges against the ruling class. Even
charges as grim as this one. Lots of loud noises later, the Hemraj story , too,
is limping along, with non-committal comments from both sides of the border,
after the shrill ‘war-mongering’ charges made by the beauteous Ms. Birkin
herself. Everybody is ‘backing off ’.The daily routine of strutting and posturing is over.Soon it will
indeed be back to business as usual. Sorry, Manmohan Singh.You’ll have to come
up with a better line… and quickly at that!

You are going to see a lot of Gong Li in this space. She is ravishing, isn't she?And a complete heart breaker. We've had visitors all day to take a look at our newest family member. I am besotted!

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This is my new column in Mumbai Mirror. Meenal Baghel, the spirited editor, has added a clever tag line : "How to be a chick, and other life lessons."' I have received an overwhelming response to the column - good and bad. Something tells me THIS is the most fun column I'll be writing...Blogdosts - feedback needed!

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Why I love bitches…

Soon… really,really soon….there will be a
new bitch in my life. I can’t wait. I am very partial towards bitches. This one
happens to be smashing looking to boot.
And quite a coquette. Perfect. As you may well have guessed, she is a four
legged female dog. A stunner, who has broken several hearts already. She
certainly broke mine the moment I laid eyes on her in Pune. My sister Mandakini
and I jointly christened her Gong Li.This was a sneaky trick designed to melt
my husband’s heart and take care of any resistance from his side. He is an
ardent fan of Gong Li - the beauteous
Chinese star of movies like ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ and ‘Farewell ,my Concubine.’

Her predecessor Kiara, was another
ravishing female canine, all sleek lines and smooth moves. After her, I was
determined to stay away from heartbreak. But one look at Gong Li, and I was
smitten. I love bitches. It works in exactly the same way with humans who share
traits that we nastily and rather inaccurately refer to as ‘bitchy’. It’s a seriously awful word. Most times it is
used recklessly to describe any woman who has dollops of attitude and isn’t
afraid to flaunt it. If she also happens to be a man magnet,it makes it that
much easier to brand her. Even if she hasn’t done anything specific to
tantalise admirers. I remember a distant time in Bombay ( it was still Bombay
then), when ferocious socialite wars had broken out. The scale and intensity of
the brawls would have made Sean Penn playing Mickey Cohen in ‘Gangster Squads’
look like a docile, well trained spaniel. The word ‘Bitch!” was spat out
several times in public. Sides had to
be taken. Like George Bush Jr. the message was unambiguous and strong: either
you were with one of the socialites, or against her. The question of remaining
neutral did not arise.

Years later, history repeated itself. The
cast of characters had changed. But not the negativity and viciousness. The
scene had shifted from South Mumbai skirmishes featuring high priestesses of
all that is stylish and extravagant, to upstartish Bollywood Divas settling
scores and ostracizing predators. But that word ‘bitch’ stayed a constant. It’s
another matter altogether that the younger generation throws ‘bitch’ around
with total nonchalance. To call a hirsute , louche chap a ‘bitch’ is taken as a
compliment. Most young girls prefer to be addressed as ‘dogs’. A poster states, “Men are the new bitches.”
Everybody is pretty cool about it. Even the bitches themselves, who shrug,
laugh and happily admit there is nothing quite as fun as a good bitch- out with
gal pals and a couple of gay buddies. A worthy gentleman I know quite well,proudly
describes himself as ‘the biggest bitch in town.’No contest, there! I have also
been present when serious corporate types ( men) have savaged contemporaries with devilish
glee and indulged in what can only be described as heavy duty bitching. Delicious
!Maybe inside each one of us lurks a closet female dog. Some are reckless
enough to let the beastie out occasionally. Modern day sociologists insist
occasional bitching is good for blood pressure. It’s a valid stress buster that
makes one feel lighter. What’s the point of stored up bile, a doctor asked me
one day. Quite so. That was all the endorsement one needed. I instantly passed
on the good news to my friends. And we felt vastly relieved. Bitching became
something the doctor ordered - cathartic…. even therapeutic. And we felt
terribly sorry for all those people who harboured homicidal thoughts about half
the world , but not a single undiplomatic word ever emerged from their mouths.
Bores! Today, bitching is seen as an art form. It is fairly acceptable
democratic and kosher to indulge in it from time to time . To bitch or not to
bitch is no longer the question. Not to be bitched about is a far worse social
crime. Bitch and be damned being the new mantra, I guess it’s flattering to be
identified as a ‘Bitch Goddess’ by the
wannabe amateurs in our midst.

Political parties and
politicians are becoming richer and richer, while India has become poorer and
poorer and poorer feels novelist Shobhaa De.

That was a good reason to profile
politicians, with not too much kindness, in her latest novelSethji.

De discusses politics, the bleak
situation in India, its youth and the writing scene withRediff.com'sSavera SomeshwarandVaihayasi
Pande Daniel.

The youth of India are very, very
disillusioned about politics. What would you tell them?

They are entirely justified in
feeling disillusioned.

But disillusionment is not going
to change a thing. It's not enough to say I'm disillusioned! What are they
going to do? Light candles, write protest songs, have overnight vigils
somewhere, hunger strike for a couple of days? It doesn't help.

You have to channelise that
disillusionment, that rage... You can't feel powerless. You cannot feel
helpless. You cannot expect the change to come miraculously out of thin air...
that a fairy godmother or godfather will show up and wave a wand and bingo! It
will all be fixed.

If they want things to change,
they have to speak up.

Like they say, the greatest
tragedy is not the clamour of the strident voices of the bad, but the appalling
silence of the good.

So, if they want that change,
they have to jump into it, get their feet dirty, get their hands dirty and
fight from within. They cannot stand on the sidelines and say I'm
disillusioned, I'm hurt, I'm feeling terrible about this.

Look at what's happening in other
countries. Look at the Arab Spring. Look at the young all across the world....
when they feel strongly enough, they do something about it. The young of India
have to do that.

Maybe the situation in India is
not as bad as Egypt.

I think the biggest difference is
that we are still living in a democracy.

In Egypt and elsewhere, they were
living under dictatorships where they had no voice at all. There was a huge
amount of suppression, a huge amount of rage that was fermenting for decades.
But there was no way of giving expression to it.

It's a different situation in
India.

Having said that, I think the
young middle-class Indian is more concerned with the Birkins and the bikes and
the EMIs on a new home and travelling abroad. Their focus is different.

It's much more of an aspirational
world that they want desperately for themselves rather than becoming
politically active, politically aware or even engaging themselves enough.

They might do it through NGOs;
they feel, I go on the weekend and teach slum children so I've done my bit for
India but that's not enough. It's really not enough unless they actively engage
in politics as it is today at the grassroots level or challenge the statusquo,
challenge the system.

I don't see that happening in a
hurry, but who knows?

Is it because politics is not
considered an honest, lucrative profession?

Lucrative, yes...

Lucrative yes, but it's not an honest
way to make money. You can make a lot of money and, once you become even an
MLA, you are set for life. But do they see this as sacrificing too much, giving
up too much?

No, I don't think they (the youth) have the guts
and the stomach for politics.

It's not about giving up a thing.

Everybody in India knows, even
the illiterate man on the street knows that even if you get to thesarpanchlevel or the municipality, you will
still make more money, illegally of course, than you ever would struggling and toiling
in a factory or in any other noble, honest profession.

Everybody knows what the deal is
in politics and perhaps that deters a few right-minded individuals.

The young Indian -- those who are
in a hurry to make it in politics, and they talk about it openly -- says,
'Forget about becoming an entrepreneur, forget about setting up a factory,
forget about borrowing money from banks which you may not be able to repay,
just get into politicsyaar! You'll make more
money in five years than you'll make in 50 years.' It will be more than what
their fathers and grandfathers have ever made...

That is the prevailing situation,
that's how people feel. It's very cynical, but there it is.

As a mother, I feel this generation has none of the idealism that,
let's say, my father's generation had.

As a mother, how do you
personally try to grow your own children's idealism?

The only way to do it is to
demonstrate it in your own life. Otherwise, it will be really hypocritical and
nonsensical and today's kids will tell you exactly where to get off.

For example, if I were to indeed
go out and buy a Birkin bag -- which I do not, and will never, possess -- and
then come and preach austerity to them, they're going to laugh in my face. You
have to walk the talk with your kids because they can't be fooled.

If there are issues that concern
you deeply, as they do me and my husband, even at the risk of being preachy old
fogies and having the children say, 'Oh God, there they go again with theirbhashans
(speeches) andgyaan(knowledge).'
It doesn't deter us, we don't give up.

We keep talking about it and,
hopefully, at least one percent of it does percolate.

The basic message, which I think
is worth repeating to your kids, is that they should lead an honest life
without compromise; they should lead a life of integrity where they can look
themselves in the eye in the mirror and not shudder or blink.

That's the best you can do. Other
than that, I'm not Raja Ram Mohan Roy.

What goes through your mind when
you look at where India is, politically and economically, today?

You can't divide the two.

Politics and economics go hand in
hand, so what we are seeing in the last few years is that the political parties
and politicians have become richer and richer and richer while India has become
poorer and poorer and poorer.

It's not that we don't have the
wealth. We have the resources. We have the brains. We just don't have
leadership. That is the crisis we are facing today and that is the crisis I
hope the next election will set right.

What gives you a feeling of hope
as far as India's future is concerned?

The young, the educated, the
restless, the impatient and the angry.

Do you think not having the
expectations and responsibilities of a family make for a different breed of
politician?

You have to be married to
politics if you take it seriously enough.

You really have to be married
either to politics or to Bill Clinton; only then can you succeed.

If you have a Bill Clinton as
your partner, then he's the one who's going to be driving you further into a
political career that works for you as a couple. But even he is saying, and he
sounded almost sad saying it, that Hillary wants to become a grandmother more
than she wants to be the president of the United States of America.

It's very hard, especially for
women in politics, to find that balance. Politics is hugely demanding. It takes
a lot out of anybody, man or woman.

If you want to succeed, I'd say
marry politics and forget about a sex life; forget about everything else.

The other
side of the coin is dynastic politics -- where you want to hoard everything for
your son/daughter; the desperate need to have your son/daughter succeed you.

What do you think goes on in the mind of this kind of politician?

I would love to know! I've tried inSethjito explore what goes on in the minds
of these politicians. But it is inevitable, it is natural.

One sees it in corporate life.
Today, politics is business; it isdhanda. I've said it in
the book.

Just as a large corporate house
would want to keep all the money and the power within the family, and
succession plans are based not on merit but on the son or the nephew or an
adopted son or a foster son or son-in-law and so on, in politics too, it is the
same principle.

In India, there is a great amount
of reverence and respect for continuity and dynasty. It provides Indians with a
sense of security. It's like being in a womb where you fully looked after; the
environment is not alien to you.

Whether in politics or in
corporate life, dynasty is something we've been accustomed to for decades. I
don't see that changing in a hurry.

Going back to your book, it
seems like you've exaggerated the stereotype of the politician or the political
game. Was it deliberate?

Secondly, do you feel that Sethji really exists as he is exactly
portrayed in your book with no shades of grey?

Well, tell me where the exaggerations are and I'll
be able to answer your question.

What is exaggerated about (Sethji's daughter-in-law)
Amrita's life or Sethji's life?

In the sense that
politicians may be...

Ruthless? Immoral? Venal?

Well, yes, and also in the
way they dress. Now they look a little bit like (Union ministers) Milind Deora and
Jyotiraditya Scindia...

Suit-bootwallahs?
Are they really all that different?

They have been marinated in a
certain political environment. They may have better accents. They may dress
sharper in designer wear. They may have been to foreign universities.

But scratch the surface and you
see the same old (pauses)
creature.

I am still trying to
understand why you chose to portray Sethji in a dhoti?

Today, when you use the wordneta(leader),
the average Indian, even the educated young Indian, will think of thetopi(cap)
and thedhotiand a politician from perhaps the
badlands in Bihar or Uttar Pradesh.

They will not think of a
Jyotiraditya. They will not think of a Manish Tiwari. They will not think of a
Milind Deora.

That is the politician that is
imprinted on the public imagination. That is the politician who is the symbol
for venality, corruption, immorality -- everything that we find loathsome in
our system.

As far as grey shades are
concerned, Sethji does have his vulnerabilities. I think they come through in
many ways -- particularly when it comes to caste, to his own being and his
health. There are areas where he is not even half as tough as Amrita for
example she takes far tougher decisions.

To me, the dynamics of the book
were about Sethji battling with the new India, a new political system, a new
political order which has marginalised a lot of the Sethjis in our midst,
whether it is in regional politics or in Delhi.

Sethji, for example, is out of
his depth dealing with the polished new political creature in the corridors of
power in Delhi or in the corporate corridors in Mumbai. But that does not mean
they are not succeeding (in
dealing with them).

Politicians like Sethji are big
players in their own way; they are just unable to speak the new language of
politics.

But the canny political brain
ticks away regardless; there is no such word as compromise in Sethji's book.
Nothing is a compromise if it means you are achieving what you set out to do
and you have a target to meet.

Another
character I'd like to talk about is Sethji's daughter-in-law, Amrita. She's
strong, gutsy, vulnerable. There are many other women mentioned in the book,
but all of them come across as very...

Phikha(watery)?

Well, the story was really about
Amrita and Sethji. They were the central characters of the book and it is their
relationship that drives the story and drives the book.

The other women characters are
like cameos, they come and go. They are not that important; they weren't that
key to the telling of the story from my point of view.

They don't come across as
strong, not even Simran, the wannabe actress who has an affair with a powerful
businessman.

People like Simran are survivors.
They are creatures who exist on the periphery of politics, manage to get what
they can -- a BMW or a rich boyfriend with connections or a farmhouse -- and
run...

Even Sethji's political opponent
within his own party is a tough lady. I don't think she is a pushover. But when
she has to make a choice, she settles for the money. You see people like them
all the time.

Coming back to exaggerated
stereotypes, like, for instance, picking up the Birkin bag or getting into a
fancy car... Is that deliberate?

It's deliberate.

If you notice, the book was
written much, much, before the lovely, lovely, Hina Rabbani came to India with
her Birkin. And all of India was obsessed with it.

There is a Birkin syndrome in
India. We even have a movie character inspired by the Birkin, the Bagwati inZindagi
Na Milegi Doobara. That's the kind of iconic status we have given
to a handbag, for Christ's sake.

So, yes, if Amrita is carrying a
Birkin, I have used that particular bag deliberately!

You seem to be parodying,
maybe as a side show in the book, our own lifestyle ...

Not mine. I don't possess a
Birkin...

I mean, the way we treat
our help for example. Is there a parody of all of us there and not just Sethji?

It's not a parody... it's just a
social comment.

It is how we treat our help. Even
in this day and age, in the 21st century, not much has changed. It is a
feudalistic, patriarchal society. We still talk a different language to the
help. And I am not just talking about thebabalogin Delhi.

Whether it is in Mumbai or
Kolkata or any other city, we do have these clearly definedlakshman
rekhas (dividing
lines) we simply will not cross.

You won't ask your help to sit
down with you for a cup of tea at the dining table.

So it's not parodying it, it's merely
reflecting our social reality.

How did you
collect material for the Delhi part? That's tough because there's so much about
politicians that we still don't know.

I didn't exactly move into one of
thosekothis (palatial
houses) for my research if that's your question (laughs).

Having monitored politics in
Delhi and elsewhere for over two-and-a-half decades, and having interacted and
met with several politicians from Delhi, I have a pretty good sense of what
goes on inside their heads.

I've visited their houses and
know the way they live, the way they dress.

You have to be a keen observer.
You need to listen. You need to be curious.

At the end of it all, it's a
story that I am telling; I am a story teller.

Fiction is really not about
re-creating and re-producing something. That would be journalese; that would be
reportage.

A lot of it has to do with
imagination, thank God, so a lot of it is imagined.

You seem to
go back to the Shobhaa De formula. It's not there inIndia
Superstaror inLetters
To My Children, but it's there in your other books. You seem to
believe that's a good formula to go by.

There is no such thing as a
formula.

I mean, it's like saying what is
the Yash Chopra formula? If there was such a formula, everybody would make a
Yash Chopra kind of film. It's not that tough.

You can say I will look at all of
Yash Chopra's films and pick the best elements and make a blockbuster like him.

The films he made were the films
that were within him; they were the films he wanted to make; they were the
films he was most comfortable with. It was turf he knew.

Similarly, my novels have all
reflected, at different times, my interests, my travels, my curiosity, my
concerns. And the books that you refer to, whether it was the India book orLetters
To My Children

They tapped much more into the
journalist in me because they were tracking changes in India at various levels
-- whether it was in marriage or parenting or social change within India.

This book takes me back to
fiction, back to story-telling which for me is Wow! It's like a luxury... It's
like checking into the Ananda Spa in the Himalayas and just letting the
imagination flow like the Ganga.

2007 was such a fabulous year for
India. There was so much hope and so much optimism. We really did walk with a
different swagger. And we could not have anticipated this change in such a
short span of time.

Superstar Indiawas upbeat because I was feeling upbeat. India turned 60, I turned
60. It was like a parallel story.

And then came 2008 and the big
crash worldwide; it didn't happen in India then but it did impact us hugely and
everything went a bit out of kilter after that but...

So the de-celebrating of India in
this book is reflecting your mood as well...

Completely. All that is awful and
wrong and depraved about politics in India today is, in a way, symbolised inSethjiand the cast of characters; it shows
us the amoral world that we are endorsing even through our silence.

So it was important for me to
write this book now.

From romance and sex and
Bollywood to politics... how did that transition happen in terms of your
novels?

I wouldn't strictly call them
romance and sex and Bollywood in quite the same way. I think each one of them
was representative of a strong social change.

All of them were, in some way, a
comment on what India was going through (then)
which was quite cataclysmic at the time.

In many ways, they (De's novels) were ahead of
their time, even if I say so (myself).
For example,Socialite Evenings, which
people imagined was just -- when I mentioned Malabar Hill and the life in south
Mumbai, which is the life I know best; I've grown up here since the age of 10
-- a life I had invented.

Actually, that was the new India.
That was a society in transition. At that time, we were not aware of it.

The people I described, the
personalities in that book were individuals who I knew; they existed.

But when I mentioned Malabar Hill
-- it was quite a prominent locale in the book -- people imagined I had merely
superimposed Beverly Hills in the Indian context.

There was such disbelief! People
could not imagine that was the high life of Mumbai -- it waspre-Antilla(Mukesh Ambani's home in Mumbai)
you must remember. But, clearly, we were moving towards Antilla.

Socialite Eveningscaptured all of that in a way that was very truthful. Maybe people
could not stomach that or they imagined I had imagined it all, which wasn't the
case. It was reality as I knew it.

Similarly,Starry
Nights, I think, remains the boldest and the most candid look at
Bollywood from the inside out, rather than an outsider's version of it.

Let me put it this way -- it was
not Madhur Bhandarkar looking atPage 3. It's very much a
felt experience. Having editedStardustfor 13 years, I have an inside view.

Starry Nightsremains, even today, the most definitive book about aspects of
Bollywood that people still don't want to acknowledge. We still want to pretend
there is no casting couch. We still want to pretend there is no underworld
money. We still want to pretend it's all kosher.

It never was; it never can be.

What do you think of this whole
boom in writing? There are so many books being released. Who are your favoured
writers among the young set and why?

It's almost a flood of
self-expression out there.

And why not? It's like a tsunami
of literature coming out.

Everyone has a book and everyone
wants to tell their story or everybody has a great idea for a book or a life
experience that they imagine will transform the world.

I think it's fantastic because,
for decades, there was no way for young people to get published. You had to be
a name. Now, how do you become a name if no one wants to look at your
manuscript? So it was a bit of a Catch 22 there.

Today, there are so many publishers
and big players and international brands... the biggest merger (publishers Penguin and Random House)
has just taken place. There will be more money. That will support the
publishing industry. That will support young authors. I'm all for it.

Today, self-publishing is no
longer considered disgraceful or demeaning. Those who cannot find publishing
houses are quite happy to spend their own money and self-publish.

There are platforms across the
board -- there are digital options. The world's gone mad with people wanting to
express themselves, whether it's on YouTube or through writing. And the
platforms are available.

To pick a favourite author would
be a little difficult because, well, I can either write my own books or read
everybody else's. And, as a publisher myself, I get at least 10 manuscripts a
week to go through. And I enjoy that very much.

I see the vibrancy. I see the
quality of writing. I see the ideas more than anything else. There are people
wanting to say new things and they are saying them very well. So, as of now,
it's boom time.

I hope the boom time stays. I
expect that it will because younger and younger people are finding their voices
and people are interested in those voices; they are finding their readers. They
are finding an audience.

Yes, good writer. I liked his work (Amish
Tripathi). I like what he stands for.

He's smart. He has reinvented and
repackaged mythology in a way that is very sexy. Like a good marketing man, he
has thought about how to position his books, how to create a brand.

I think he'd be in the top three
in the publishing world today.

Anybody who you think may be a
young Shobhaa De?

(Laughs) well, I've been waiting in journalism
for 40 years for the clone to arrive. Waiting in fiction...

>But why have clones? Why have
a young anyone?

There are so many young, fresh,
wonderful, original voices. Why not just raise a toast to the original rather
than a clone?

What's next on the anvil? Is a
new book already in your head?

Yes, it's in my head.

I'm looking at a trilogy right
now, but more than that I don't know because I need to nurse this baby --
that's Sethji -- through at least till the baby is a toddler and can walk on
its own.

Once I am done with that, because
the promotional activity will take at least another year, let's see...

But the book is definitely there.
It's exploding out of my head, waiting to be written. So it's fiction for sure
for the next five years.

Any hints?

No. My husband tried to pry it
out of me -- he said could it be this, could it be that, you've left a window
open here, could it be that character playing a more prominent... I told him I
am not giving anything away for free.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Sorry, Blogdosts.... I forgot all about posting this one. But, as they say... better late than never! It appeared in The Telegraph as a year-ender...

**************

2013: Toko! Toko!

I can’t seem to get that idiotic, catchy
Honey Bunny jingle out of my head! I am hoping if I repeat it often enough and
get further infected by its upbeat mood, everything will be ‘Toka! Toka!’ in
2013. What the hell is ‘Toko! Toko!’ ? I don’t know. I don’t care. It sounds
good. More importantly, it makes me feel good. Try saying it a few times
yourself. Go on – it’s easy! After feeling foolish the first couple of times,
it will roll off your tongue easily and possibly bring a silly smile to your
face as well. Fingers crossed, but I am desperately hoping the next year will
be equally breezy and fun. God knows how we endured 2012 without losing it
completely. Especially, during the last few weeks when we were hit by one nasty
jolt after another.The worst one being the brutal rape of a 23-year-old young
girl in a Delhi bus. What a horrendous end to a horrible year!

My reading is that 2013 will see us
obsessed by 2014. We shall sleep walk through the coming year, with all our
collective energies focused on the Big Moment in 2014 when India votes. Unless,
of course, we are slapped with a mid-term poll ( hardly mid-term, though!),
which we can least afford. If that takes us by surprise, we should be in a
better position to anticipate another dramatic, unfactored development – a
third front. If the third front does become a reality , we will then have to
come to terms with a fresh player. The newest prime ministerial candidate on
the block. And – hold your breath - that person could well turn out to be (don’t laugh just yet) Mulayam Singh Yadav. Everything is pointing
towards such a scenario. As of now, the Congress Party is playing coy and
refusing to nominate Rahul Baba for the top job. With that all important
nomination in a limbo, the BJP is also avoiding the ‘M-word’ ( ‘M’ for Modi).
This despite Modi’s convincing and expected recent win in Gujarat. If the guessing game continues for much longer,
it will be Advantage Mulayam. And if that happens, I’ll be most interested in
monitoring developments in the Bachchan
parivaar. Why them? Well, Jaya is very much a Mulayam Singh loyalist with a
visible and vocal presence in parliament. Meanwhile, Mr. Bachchan , as the
brand ambassador of Modi’s Gujarat, is obliged to stick to his script so long
as he’s the State’s ambassador. Recently, the bahuraani of the household, the
beauteous Aishwarya Rai, has also been heard singing praises of Gujarat. That
leaves Abhishek. Will Junior B align himself to his mother’s political party
and declare he’s a true blue U.P.walla?
If that happens, would it be fair to say the Bachchans , between them have
carved up large tracts of India in an impressive way? And that Bachchan Jr. has
proved he’s a pucca Mama’s Boy? Aaradhya, being a new age baby, may float her
own party down the line. But for now, a
fashion line called Baby B is entirely in order. Sigh! Speculations can be so
meaningless and yet so delightful.

Mamatadi, according to West Bengal
watchers, has spent most of last year mopping up crores and crores of lolly so as to consolidate her supremo
position within the party. Isn’t that always the official excuse of any new
Chief Minister? No hard cash. No power. If her erratic policies and bizarre
actions are leaving critics dumb founded, her supporters are expressing their
loyalty each time she appears on a public platform protesting against something
or the other. The rest of India remains flummoxed, mainly because people are
unable to understand even a single word of what Didi screams herself hoarse over. Was that Bangla?
Ingreji? Hindi?Swahili? What is annoying Miss Hawa Hawaii - FDI ? FBI? Something else? Your guess is as
good as mine! All one can tell is that she is in a bad mood perpetually. Except
when she’s dancing a jig with SRK. And so foul is that mood , one critical word
against her and off to the clink goes the naughty offender! Hitler Didi has become her popular moniker.

2013 has been officially declared the Year
of Narendra Modi, now that the Gujarat Chief Minister has pulled off a hat
trick in his state. Ab Dilli Door Nahi. From C.M. to P.M. It has been a long
and well planned journey. Modi Dabannged India in style and now there’s no
stopping the man. His victory speech said it all. Modi addressed the nation in
general, and L.K.Advani in particular, when he promised his adoring supporters
they’d be treated to speeches delivered in Hindi from now on. As a run up to
the gaddi in Delhi, Modi has mugged up his lines very well indeed. With Rahul
Gandhi still waffling and playing will-he-won’t-he games, the Congress Party looks kinda like a
headless chicken. If Chidambaram agrees to keep the hot seat still warmer for the Reluctant Prince, the
entire dynamics of the game will change dramatically. Chidambaram as a stand-
in Prime Minister is a far more acceptable alternative to some other candidate
plucked out of nowhere. Madamji trusts the canny P.C. ( well…. to the extent
she trusts her own shadow), plus, old boy Singh and Chids go back a long way…remember,
they are veteran World Bank buddies. It could be a really cosy set up, unless
of course, Madamji herself decides the time is right to take over India .
Officially, that is.

Sports’ pundits are taking bets 2013 will
finally see Sachin Tendulkar heading back to the pavilion for good. I’d say,
hold those bets. Sachin will retire when he is good and ready to walk. Not
because the world of cricket wants him to. Chances of Dhoni marching into the
sunset before Sachin does, are pretty high.Sweet irony, there! Dada will have
the last laugh… as always. He knows his job as an expert commentator on
television is safe. Sachin can’t talk, saala!

India only has two and a half sports stars
to begin with. Right now our love affair is with Mary Kom. Mary herself seems
keener on fashion shows and catwalks than pulling on those gloves and punching
the hell out of opponents in the ring. Ditto for the buxom Sania and the toothy
Saina. Fashion’s gain is the sports’ world’s loss.But these ladies do have nice
legs and boobs. So who’s complaining?

In Bollywood, the Khans will be battling it
out for that all important 100- crores hit. While nobody’s looking…. Ajay
Devgn, Hritik Roshan, and Akshay Kumar may crack the 200- crore barrier and
laugh all the way to the bank. Katrina Kaif and Kareena Kapoor will keep those
hot moves going in item number after item number. From Fevicol to Superglue these two will stay
in business . As for Deepika P, who knows, she may slither past them when they
aren’t looking. She’s like that. Besides, Priyanka is far too busy in the city
to care about Bollywood. And Vidya may produce a little balan of her own now that the honeymoon is
over.

As for us hacks and tv anchors… we’ll keep
toiling away, demanding answers from the nation to questions nobody
understands!

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

A mid-morning coffee break in Dubrovnik.... please note : no lipstick! No bob-cut. Painted and dented? Who me?????

*********************

This appeared in The Week.....

Lipstick and
Coca Cola….

Abhijeet Mukherjee’s crass remarks about
‘dented and painted’ women who go to discos, made me think of my father who
belonged to another century ( he was born in 1910). I figured my Baba was ten
times more modern and progressive in his thinking than this 52- year- old M.P. claiming to represent the
21st century. My mother did not wear lipstick. One of my two sisters
did.And I have always had a love-hate relationship with it. My father may not
have ‘approved’ of lip colour, but he didn’t stop us from using it. Nor did he
make us feel diminished because we did. But others around him certainly didn’t
camouflage their attitude, which was one of
undisguised disapproval. To make matters worse, I sported what was
termed ‘bob cut’ hair. And dared to expose my arms in sleeveless frocks. This
shocked the neighbourhood and led to several unflattering, unsavoury comments
that questioned my character. Seen in the context of the giddy ‘60s, such narrow minded responses are understandable.
But when an elected representative of the people shoves not just his foot but
the entire leg in his mouth in this day and age, he cuts a very sorry spectacle
indeed. What an embarrassment Abhijeet Mukherjee must be to his father, who is
not just any other dad of a gauche son, but the President of India himself!

Perhaps Abhijeet was not really himself
when he was caught on camera uttering those foolish words.But when he refused
to express support for the protestors at India Gate, his apology was rendered
instantly insincere and meaningless. He uttered the words in an emotionless,
robotic manner, like he had been coerced into doing so. An apology ‘under orders’ has zero worth. But
let’s forget this solitary sorry specimen for now. Abhijeet is representative
of countless men, and yes – a fair
number of women, as well - those who pass judgments on women who refuse to
conform to prescribed rules. These rules include wearing make- up (“paint”) and
increasingly, jeans. It is automatically assumed that women, who present
themselves in a certain way, are in
reality nothing but bar hopping nymphomaniacs out to destroy our precious
society with their wayward ways.

We have been brainwashed over decades to
think of ‘fashionable’ ladies as harlots. Or at any rate, women whose moral
codes are dodgy. Despite the vast number of
crack women professionals in every conceivable field in India, the silly
perception still persists – a lipsticked mouth spells trouble. It remains a
strict no-no. Closely followed by long painted nails and kajaal. This is before
we even get to the women’s apparel. If it is fitted and reveals body contours,
the woman stands little chance of being taken seriously by anyone. Never mind,
that a saree draped in a certain way, can be far more revealing and seductive.
This sort of ridiculous stereotyping of our women folk, has led to a host of
social issues that go well beyond ‘eve-teasing’. When Abhijeet mocked what he
dubbed the ‘pink revolution’, he was tapping into something deeper and
desperately serious. Misogynists like
Abhijeet ( too many of them!), cannot and will not accept that a great deal has
changed in Indian society since those distant days when women had no choice but
to go along with society’s archaic laws that dictated the way women lived their
lives – from their appearance to their conduct. Abhijeet’s arrogance is the
arrogance of the ruling class ( not politicians alone, but men). His unguarded
but essentially nasty insinuations may come back to haunt him later. In the
interim, it is his stoic father who will have to keep his chin up and stay out
of this messy fracas.

When I shared a TV platform with Abhijeet
the night all hell broke loose, I actually felt sorry for the man. He looked
drugged and robotic as he obstinately kept mouthing the same prepared lines.
His expression was impassive. Most times he appeared bored. There was no
reference to the horrific rape that had triggered off the protests in the first
place. The subtext was clear : women ask for it. Especially those women who
dance in discotheques and then turn up with candles because it is a trendy
thing to do. The disconnect with Young India could not be more blatantly
expressed. His idiocy will go down as one of the most chauvinistic comments
of 2012. The world will move on. But I
still wonder whether Abhijeet and others like him ever will.